Page 74 of The Coach

I don’t react.

Neither does he.

It’s just…easy. Like we’ve done this a million times before.

Like his warmth was supposed to be there all along.

I wake up to warm sheets, soft pillows, and a bed that’s definitely not mine.

I sit up, disoriented.

The skyline stretches out beyond the massive windows, morning light spilling into the room. It takes me a second to piece it together—Jackson’s penthouse. Last night. The movie. Falling asleep on the couch.

But then…why am I in his bed, and not the guest room?

Before I can spiral too hard, the bedroom door swings open.

And—oh.

Jackson steps inside, sweaty and shirtless, a sheen of exertion on his skin from a morning run. His dark hair is slightly damp, pushed back from his face, and his chest rises and falls in slow, even breaths.

I swear to God, the man was built to ruin lives.

He pauses mid-step when he sees me awake, his mouth tugging into a half-smile.

“Morning, sleepyhead.”

I blink. “Uh. Morning.”

He crosses to the dresser, grabbing a clean T-shirt, then glances at me.

“You looked uncomfortable on the couch,” he explains, tugging the shirt over his head. “Figured you should have the special bed.”

I frown. “The special bed?”

He shrugs, grinning. “It’s more comfortable.”

I tilt my head. “And where did you sleep?”

“Couch.”

I stare at him. “You have a penthouse with multiple rooms, and you chose the couch?”

He smirks, running a hand through his hair. “I like the couch.”

“That’s weird.”

“Yeah, well. I’m weird.” He gestures behind him. “I put on some coffee. I grabbed some decaf on the way back, too, because I wasn’t sure…can you have caffeine?”

I blink again, my chest doing something stupid.

“Uh. Yeah. I mean, a little.”

“Cool.” He nods toward the door. “I’m also making breakfast.”

I glance at the clock—eight thirty.

“I have to be at our training facility by noon today. When’s your train?”

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